The Death of Promises h-3

by David Dalglish

  “Can you feel your legs?” Haern asked, ignoring the paladin. Harruq shook his head. “Well, can you still run?”

  “He better,” Lathaar said as he lopped an arm off at the elbow. “Because that’s what we’re doing.”

  Jerico braced with his front foot and then used it to push off, hooking his shield onto his back as he ran east. Lathaar swung his sword in a single arc, cutting down the first bunch of undead that toppled through before he too sprinted east. Haern pulled the half-orc along. Harruq struggled to focus. Foot after foot. That was all that mattered. Swing a dead log that was his leg, plant down, and then swing the other. The undead poured through the wall, but they were slow and lumbering. Second after agonizing second the city grew smaller behind them, the chorus of moans becoming distant. Their pace slowed to a steady jog, which soon slowed to a quick walk. They all kept their silence. They were too exhausted for anything else.

  T hey had no tent, so instead they found a few withered trees, hacked off their limbs, and arranged them in a circle representing the commander’s tent. The air was cold, and with the setting of the sun it had grown even colder. Fires dotted the hills, each source of heat heavily crowded. In the center of their circle a large fire roared, courtesy of Tarlak. Antonil and Sergan sat beside each other, huddled and dejected. The Eschaton sat with them, as did Deathmask and his group. Grief had come with the stars, and the night was filled with the cries of lost homes, friends, and loved ones.

  “Let’s keep this simple, no formalities here,” Antonil said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. “Tarlak, your Eschaton saved countless lives this day, so that is why I bring you all here. Ashhur forgive me but I must ask for even more. And Deathmask, the reputation of your Ash Guild and your defense of my people has also earned you a seat amongst us. Sergan and I will speak for whatever remains of our kingdom of Neldar. Do any object?”

  “You might as well speak for Neldar,” Tarlak said. “No one else will.”

  “I need to know what chance we have,” Antonil said. He glanced around, meeting each and every pair of eyes surrounding the fire. “Start with the basics. Food. Water. Shelter. Can we manage?”

  “I can conjure spring water from the ground,” Aurelia said. She sat in Harruq’s lap, her husband’s arms wrapped around her to keep her warm. “And once we have a decent sleep, creating fire for warmth should not be a burden.”

  “A decent sleep may be a long time coming,” Jerico said, pointedly glancing west. Twenty guards patrolled the area, ready to sound the alarm if a party of undead entered their camp.

  “Any sleep will feel divine right now,” Tarlak said. He brushed his goatee with his thumb and forefinger. “Though fire does us no good while traveling. How many with us are too old, or too young, to survive a journey in the cold? We have no blankets, no tents…”

  “Let’s not worry about what we can’t change,” Antonil said. “What about food?”

  “Aurry, can’t you summon some?” Harruq asked. “Same with you, right Tar?”

  Deathmask chuckled at the half-orc. “Did no one bother to tell him of the components for mage banquets?” he asked.

  “Components?” Harruq asked.

  In answer, Tarlak reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of small yellow gems. He handed one to the half-orc.

  “Topaz,” the wizard said. “The more the food, the more topaz we use. What, did you think those extravagant meals we fed you were free?”

  “I have some as well,” Aurelia said. “Enough to feed five for a month, but how many thousands are here? It will never last.”

  “Keep it simple,” Deathmask said. “Plain bread. If we spread it out, we might have enough to last an extra week.”

  “Tarlak, Aurelia, do you mind being responsible for the food and water until another solution is found?” Antonil asked. Tarlak laughed.

  “Sure, why not. I don’t mind being a walking bakery.”

  Another moment of silence. Antonil knew the first part was easier, at least compared to what he planned to propose.

  “So we have no shelter,” the guard captain began, “and limited food. Where else can we go to seek aid? Omn is a brutal month away, through the deep of winter no less. We must go to the elves and request their aid.”

  “You’re a fool,” Deathmask said. “After you nearly start a war to remove them from Woodhaven, you think either race of elves will give food and shelter to so many refugees?”

  “The one responsible for that edict is dead,” Antonil said. His ragged face hardened. “And do you see any other option? If I must, I will have Scoutmaster Dieredon plead my case.”

  “They will turn us away,” Deathmask insisted. “Mordan waged war to push them across the rivers, and then Neldar banished them from their lands. We are not welcome, and we are not wanted. You might as well turn us back around and march us right into Veldaren!”

  “And if I thought it was the best path for my people, I’d be the first to kneel before the armies of the dead,” Antonil shouted. “But I’ll be damned if I watch the rest of this nation slaughtered by Karak’s madness.”

  “Quiet down now,” Tarlak said, stroking his goatee as he glanced between the two. “Deathmask, I understand your worry. Personally, I think the elves will be thrilled at the chance to thumb their noses at us, but does anyone here know of any possible alternative?”

  Silence.

  “I didn’t think so,” Tarlak said. “I don’t know the prejudices of most here, but the elves aren’t evil, and they aren’t heartless monsters. There are too many weak and helpless here for them to fully turn us away. The bigger question is, do we seek help from the Quellan or the Dezren elves?”

  “The Quellan,” Aurelia said. She shifted in Harruq’s lap. “They will help us. The Dezren will just turn us away.”

  “How do you know this?” Tarlak asked.

  “Wait a second,” Harruq interrupted. “What’s the difference between, what is it? Quellan? Dezren?”

  “Does no one tell this beast anything?” Deathmask muttered.

  “Watch it,” Harruq grumbled.

  “The Dezren elves once lived in Mordan,” Lathaar said. He had drawn his sword and laid it across his lap, his eyes staring at the soft blue-white glow. “King Baedan waged war, quick and brutal, to force them from their forests by systematic fires. Those fires spanned for miles and filled the sky with smoke and ash. The elves fled across the rivers and settled in what you know as the Derze forest. Many came to the Citadel for aid, but we…”

  “You turned us away,” Aurelia said. “Left us cold and hungry and scared as we entered a country not our own in search of a home.” As she spoke, both Jerico and Lathaar stared at the ground in shame. “A kind word, a hand raised in aid, and we might have believed that not all humankind shared such hatred and disgust. You were the champions of the god of men. You turned us away. The Dezren elves will not give us aid.”

  “I was but a child at the time,” Lathaar said in the following quiet. “I don’t know the reason. Politics, perhaps, or maybe Sorollos’s influence had grown too strong. But I remember your faces. So beautiful. So tired. I tried to offer some food to a small elven boy. My headmaster slapped the bowl out of my hand and ordered me inside.”

  “The Quellan elves share their hatred,” Antonil said, his own voice turning ragged. “Why would they help us? It is they who helped the Dezren build homes in their forest while Vaelor turned a blind eye to their plight.”

  “Harruq,” Aurelia said. “Tell them what your brother said to you, just before you fled the city.”

  The half-orc shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with the amount of eyes watching him. How many didn’t know of Qurrah? How would he explain who he was, and what his brother had done?

  “Qurrah,” he said, trying to find a place to start. “He…just before we left, he entered my mind. He said Celestia’s wall had fallen, and that thousands of demons were pouring into the city. I don’t know what he meant, or if he spoke the truth.�
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  “Celestia’s wall?” Mira asked, startling those around her. She had remained silent for the meeting, but now seemed focused.

  “Who is this ‘Qurrah,’” Deathmask asked. “And what wall did he speak of?”

  “Qurrah…” Harruq began.

  “Was once a member of my Eschaton,” Tarlak interrupted. “He has caused us much grief, and sides with the servants of Karak. He commands many of the army that overran Veldaren.”

  “Qurrah,” Antonil said. “The necromancer you accused of mutilating the bodies half a year ago? He leads this army?”

  “Yes,” Tarlak said. “We did not kill him when we had the chance. Now we all pay dearly for our failure.”

  “The wall,” Mira said. “Tell me, what is it?”

  Aurelia started to speak, but Antonil held up a hand.

  “It is my failure,” he said, “and I will tell it. Only kings and guard captains are shown what is behind the throne curtains. It is a mural depicting Ashhur and Karak entering this world through a swirling door made of stars. Whenever a new king takes the throne the Quellan elves send a single diplomat, always with the same request. ‘Will you guard that which all other Kings have guarded?’ Most assume it means peace, or life, but that isn’t it. Our scholars believe it is through that wall, that gate of stars, that the gods entered our world. The Quellan elves confirm this.”

  “Whatever Celestia guarded our world from cannot be ignored,” Mira said.

  Antonil stood and turned his back to the fire. His hands shook at his side.

  “I swore to guard the throne of the king with my life, yet here I am. What has your vile brother done, Harruq? What has he released into our world?”

  Aurelia brushed aside Harruq’s arms and stood, placing her hand atop Antonil’s shoulder. He flinched but did not push her away.

  “The Quellan elves will fight them,” she said. “No good would have come from your death, nor the sacrifice of the thousand that look to you for strength. Say the destination, and we all will follow. Give the word, and your people will gladly die in the cold, damp earth. It is better than the fate you spared them from.”

  “Is it?” Antonil asked as the guards at the perimeter called out warning. Undead approached. “Can you be so certain?”

  W ake, my disciple,” Velixar said. Qurrah muttered and crept open an eye.

  “Can it wait until dawn?” he asked. Velixar frowned, displeased at the lack of immediate obedience.

  “Ulamn returns. Stand. Our new army comes.”

  Tessanna stirred at the sound of their voices.

  “Our army?” she asked. Her voice was drowsy and her eyes still closed. “Do they march with our banner? Do they obey our commands?”

  “In time,” Velixar said. The portal swirled, the stars violent. “Qurrah, stand. Their passing will tax your strength.”

  Gently Qurrah slid Tessanna off his chest and to the floor. He staggered to his feet, brushed his eyes, and then screamed in horrid pain. Velixar grit his teeth, and his eyes faded. Ulamn stepped through, flanked by twenty guards. They held flags of the yellow fist. Weapons hung from their belts.

  “The first of many,” Ulamn shouted, and the others raised their fists and cheered. They marched forward, ignoring the three in the corner. Twenty more arrived wielding polearms made of a strange red iron that matched their crimson armor. Again Qurrah screamed.

  “The pain will lessen with each passing,” Velixar said, his voice raspy and weak. “Celestia has not yet given up hope of breaking our spirit.”

  “I can see that,” Qurrah gasped as he crumbled to his knees. Thirty more soldiers entered. They held supplies for constructing tents and fortifications. The half-orc winced, his teeth locked tight so that his scream came out as a hissing moan.

  “Try to rest,” Tessanna said as she stroked her lover’s face. “It is only pain. You have endured worse.”

  “That…” Qurrah said as he gasped for air. “That is a lie.”

  A group of forty marched into the throne room carrying long planks of wood atop their shoulders. Qurrah arched his back against the wall and smacked a fist against the cold stone. Sweat covered his face. Through blurred eyes, he saw Velixar did little better. His skin had turned pale and rotten. His eyes were tiny spots of red amid a dried up skull. Velixar pulled his hood low across his face and turned away from his disciple.

  “Do you understand the power we control?” Velixar asked. “Without us they cannot enter. To defeat the armies of Celestia and Ashhur, they will need thousands of Thulos’s war demons. If we break under the strain, they will be trapped here.”

  “Thousands,” Qurrah gasped as another group of forty entered, marching in perfect formation with gigantic swords strapped to their backs.

  “It will get easier,” Velixar said. “I promise.”

  Ulamn finished ordering his men to set up camps along the outside of the castle and approached the necromancers.

  “We normally have a hundred gatekeepers to share the burden of passing through our armies,” he said. “To have only two will slow us greatly.”

  “We have time,” Velixar said. “How many centuries have you searched for this world? A few extra months will be nothing.”

  “Thulos will not be able to enter,” the demon general said. “You both are far too weak to support the entrance of a god.”

  “When Celestia is defeated, and her elves ash and bone, we will have the strength,” Velixar said. “How many come with you?”

  “Two hundred, for now,” Ulamn said, glancing at Qurrah. “Will he survive?”

  “He will,” Tessanna said, answering for him. “I know he will.”

  “So be it. We will camp within the city. A battle has been fought here, and it will do us good to be surrounded by the bodies of the conquered.”

  Qurrah’s scream interrupted them, which then turned to laughter.

  “Is it true pain makes you stronger,” he asked in between laughs. “Because you won’t need a god after this. I’ll be one.”

  “His madness is…” Ulamn began.

  “None of your concern,” Velixar said. “Go tend your army.”

  The demon general frowned but obeyed. Two more groups exited the portal before it shrank. The stars fixated in position. Qurrah gasped in relief as the light returned to Velixar’s eyes.

  “I will be in prayer,” the man in black said before marching off. He could not bear to be in the same room as his disciple. He slammed the doors shut behind him, leaving the two lovers in silence. Tessanna knelt down and held Qurrah as he gasped in pain.

  “I wish they would have let me sleep first,” he said, the right side of his face cracking a smile.

  “Sleep now,” Tessanna told him, kissing each of his eyes closed. “Recover your strength. You will need it by the morn.”

  He did as he was told, far too weak to argue otherwise.

  M ira slipped through the many fires, her heart panged by the sight of so many suffering. She wondered how many would never wake from their sleep. Ten? Fifty? A hundred? The cold would claim so many. She reached the edge of their encampment. A lone guard walked by, a faded cape wrapped around his body and his helmet pulled down to cover his numb ears. He nodded at her as he passed.

  “A throne of a king,” Mira said, her eyes staring off in the night. Visions danced before her, not of her own creation. “And a mural with the gods’ entrance. Is this what you want of me, Celestia? Is this my purpose?”

  She waved her hands, tearing open a blue portal. Her whole body quivered with fear and excitement. She knew who waited on the other side. Could she face her, knowing what her dreams demanded?

  She didn’t know, but she entered anyway.

  T essanna stood as the small blue portal ripped open beside the throne. She smiled as a healthier, livelier version of herself stepped through. They stared at each other with gigantic black eyes, the eyes of goddesses.

  “I dreamt you would come to me,” Tessanna said.

  “Is
that all you dreamt?” Mira asked.

  “No,” Tessanna said, smiling at her sleeping husband. “I dreamt of my child. And I dreamt of you dying, my dagger plunged deep in your breast.” She drew her dagger and licked the edge, not minding the blood that trickled from the cut she made on her tongue.

  “I don’t trust my dreams,” Mira said. “I’ve defeated ancient demons, Tessanna. Armies have quivered and fled by my hand alone.”

  “And Qurrah quivers from mine,” Tessanna said. “And he is greater than any army.”

  Soft white mist fell from Mira’s hands as she summoned her magic. “Dreams change,” she said.

  “Never,” Tessanna said. “Only we change. Our dreams stay the same.”

  Mira hurled a lance of ice, which quickly shattered from a wave of Tessanna’s hand. Seven more lances followed, each one breaking as she laughed.

  “Is this all?” Tessanna asked. “I thought you were supposed to be my mirror?”

  Mira spread her arms above her head and glared. A ball of fire grew, shaking with intensity. With all her strength she hurled it across the room, but not at Tessanna. Instead it flew straight for Qurrah’s sleeping body. Tessanna shrieked, twirling her hands on instinct. A wall of shadow cocooned him. The fire exploded, burning curtains and filling the room with smoke. Qurrah was unharmed.

  Tessanna glared at Mira. She was no longer having fun. Mira saw this and smirked.

  “I lived alone for so long,” Mira said. “As did you. What would it be like to lose him and return to that loneliness?”

  “Never,” Tessanna hissed. Bolts of shadow shot from her hands, splashing across a magical shield.

  Mira uncrossed her arms, and from the center of her chest a bolt of lightning streaked across the room. Tessanna caught it in her hand, laughing as she felt its power char her flesh. Her laughter ended when a second bolt struck Qurrah, dissolving her barrier around him. Qurrah, exhausted beyond measure from opening the portal and enduring the arrival of so many troops, remained unconscious.

  “How afraid of loneliness are you?” Mira asked. Before she could hurl a second attack at Qurrah, the lightning bolt left Tessanna’s hand, strengthened by a surrounding aura of fire. Mira brought up her shield and cried out in pain as she halted the spell. Tessanna gave her no reprieve. She locked her hands together, braced, and then fired a gigantic beam of shadow. Mira did the same, except pure white magic streamed from her hands. The two beams struck, the sound of their meeting a concussion of violent thunder.